


A Most Impossible Boy

by ArtemisRayne



Series: May Look at a King - A Newsies Felisian AU [3]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Felisian, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Male Character, Cat/Human Hybrids, Felisian, Felisian!Jack, First Dates, Fluff, Gay Male Character, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Yep Still Don't Even Know, bi!jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: Jack Kelly doesn't really do "first dates," mainly because they imply that there will be a "second." He likes living the unattached life of the perpetual bachelor, flirting his way around campus as his fancy takes him. He doesn't do romance or expectations or commitments.Then he meets Davey Jacobs, and his own damn traitorous heart forgets all the rules.





	A Most Impossible Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I still don't know what I'm doing here, but I can't stop myself.
> 
> This was meant to be a little bit of slightly angsty introspection on Jack's part, but these two won't cooperate. Ergo, here is Jack and Davey's first date, significantly longer than any of the other pieces and far fluffier than it has any right to be for such damaged boys.
> 
> Rating entirely Jack's fault, because you know he's the sorta boy who can't control his mouth.

Jack Kelly doesn't really do "first dates," mainly because they imply that there will be a _second_ date. That's far too many expectations to handle at once, far too much significance to place on a single event.

Actually, all things considered, he doesn't really like the whole dating thing in general. The fake facades that people put on, all of the vain attempts to talk yourself up, selling yourself like a product to a potential future partner. _Hey, look at me on my best behavior and purposely hiding all my faults; wouldn't I make such a perfect boyfriend?_ At the same time, both sides are scrutinizing each other for anything that might be a warning or red-flag, to see if the other person is even worth the effort of trying.

No, thank you. Jack prefers the frank realism of hookups and flings. It's much easier to make sense of, no pretenses or messy emotions. Pure attraction and acting on it. So apart from one, short-lived, whirlwind romance in high school, he's stuck pretty firmly to the realm of the unattached, nothing lasting more than a week or so. He likes it this way.

It's not like he's ever short for options, either. He knows he's an attractive guy, a lifetime of practice has given him effortless confidence that charms people, and even though he personally thinks it's stupid, he knows people find his felisianism fascinating and mysterious. At the very least, it's a conversation starter. Jack flirts his way around campus, wooing whoever has currently captured his interest until the novelty wears off and he moves onto the next.

No expectations, no commitments, no baggage; precisely the way he likes it. Which is why even Jack can't explain to himself why he's checking the clock for the third time in ten minutes during his Friday afternoon shift, counting down to his ~~first~~ date with Davey Jacobs.

Nerves are not something Jack's accustomed to experiencing, especially not where dates are concerned. Really, he doesn't even have anything to be worried about; despite their rocky start, Davey made his interest all too clear. Jack has no doubts that he could have Davey in his bed before midnight and out by sunrise if that's what he wanted.

It's more the fact that Jack's not sure that's what he _wants_ that's throwing him for a loop.

Not that he's isn't attracted, of course, and he sure as hell won't complain if that's where they end up. The thing is, Jack genuinely _likes_ Davey. They've been texting off and on all week, and Davey's so much more than the pretty but tightly-wound freshman that shouted at him in the coffee shop. He's smart and funny, fiercely passionate about things he likes and a little too serious at times; He's occasionally awkward, stubbornly independent, and a bit weird, but he's also got a dry, self-deprecating sense of humor that Jack just _gets_. If they weren't going to go out, Jack thinks he'd want to be friends with Davey.

Except Jack doesn't hook-up with his friends, because mixing sex and emotions like that starts to sound an awful lot like a "relationship."

"Hey, furball." Jack huffs, his scowl mostly for show when he glances over his shoulder at the door from the back room. Race is coming out of the employee room, tying his apron on as he raises an eyebrow at Jack. "What'd that poor clock ever do to you?"

"Oh f-" Jack pauses, ears swiveling to check that there are no customers near the counter, before he continues, "fuck off, wouldja?"

Race laughs and his expression is purely shit-eating. "Damn, Spot wasn't kiddin'. You're actually nervous, ain'tcha?"

"I'm not nervous," Jack counters, scrambling to pull his composure back together, but it's a token effort. Race knows him well enough to know when Jack's faking the smile.

The blonde shakes his head, chuckling to himself. "A'right, I got the counter," he says. "Go freshen up, lick your paws, whateva. No one'll notice, and ya need it, to be honest."

Jack flips the shorter boy off as he passes, heading into the break room at the back. He trades his apron for a blue henley, pulling it on over the black tee that's his work uniform. After checking his reflection in the cracked mirror above the employee sink, smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt and combing down a bit of hair that's sticking up behind one ear, Jack takes a deep breath and slips out into the shop.

"Oh, was just gonna come grab ya," Race says when he spots Jack. "The Beanpole's freakishly punctual." He jerks his head toward the door and Jack's stomach leaps. His gaze finds Davey immediately, hovering awkwardly just inside the doorway and fidgeting. He's wearing a crisp white shirt tucked into his dark jeans, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a black vest hangs open on his shoulders. It's an oddly formal look, and somehow simultaneously weird and endearing in a way that warms something in Jack's stomach.

Jack takes a step out from behind the counter, and Davey's eyes snap to him. The moment his eyes land on Jack, he smiles. It brightens up his whole face, softening the long, sharp lines of his razor-blade cheekbones and angular jaw. It was that killer bone structure that first caught Jack's eye, an artist's gaze attracted to the beautiful, precise lines, but something about that boyish smile is infinitely better.

 _Fuck_ , Jack thinks as he walks across the café, _I'm already in way over my head_.

"Hey," Jack greets when he reaches Davey. "Sorry, was just clockin' out. You ready?"

"Sure, yeah," Davey agrees. "Uh, where-?"

Jack grins. "Dinner, remember?" he says. "Unless you normally eat coffee for dinner. Which, yeah, I've done, but I don't recommend it. Pretty sure that's bad for ya heart or somethin'." Davey snorts, shaking his head in a gesture that's almost fond.

"Behave yourself, kitten," Race shouts across the shop when they turn for the door. Jack glances over his shoulder to hiss theatrically and throw another middle finger, earning him a startled look from a woman in line and a raucous laugh from Race. Following Davey out the cafe door, he's surprised to find the taller boy eyeing him appraisingly.

"Does it bother you, him calling you that?" Davey asks without preamble, catching Jack off guard.

"Who, Race? Oh, nah, it's fine," says Jack, because Davey's scowl looks a little like he's prepared to go back in and defend Jack's honor. As amusing as the idea is, Jack can't help feeling oddly touched too, this guy who barely knows him ready to go to battle for him over a simple teasing nickname most people would overlook. "He just thinks he's funny. If it was someone else, maybe, but he's family so-" Jack trails off with a shrug.

Davey's eyes widen, surprised. "You're related?"

"Not like that," Jack amends, recognizing instantly why Davey's confused. It's common knowledge that felisianism is hereditary, and the dominant _homo felis_ gene tends to run in families. "In-law. He married my older brother." Davey makes a noise of comprehension, his lips shaping into a small O as he nods. "Anyway, it ain't too far, if ya don't mind walkin'."

"Not at all," Davey says with a shake of his head. When Jack starts walking, Davey falls smoothly into step with him. "Where are we going?"

"Well s'much as I'd like to wine and dine proper," says Jack, shooting a sly smile sideways at Davey, "I'm a starvin' college kid same as anyone, so anythin' fancier than McDonald's is outta my budget. But my place is just a coupl'a blocks, and I've been told I'm not too bad in the kitchen."

"You're going to cook?" Davey asks, obviously surprised.

Jack grins, tail flicking. "I'm not just a pretty face," he replies teasingly, and his smile widens when Davey ducks his head, licking his lips. Sure, Jack knew Davey was attracted from that first meeting, but reminders are always good for the ego.

Davey clears his throat, and it seems he's regathered his composure, his wry smile back in place. "Well hopefully those cooking skills extend to more than just coffee," says Davey. "I already drink way more of it than I should."

"Damn, there goes my plans," Jack says, chuckling. "Guess it's Happy Meals after all."

Laughing, Davey shakes his head. They fall into a natural back and forth of small talk - idle chatter about the first week of school - laced with banter, and it turns out that Davey gives as good as he gets. It's really not that far at all to the apartment before Jack interrupts himself mid-sentence to say, "Oh, this's us." Jack digs out his keys and unlocks the iron gate at the bottom of the staircase between the deli and pawn shop.

Up four flights of narrow stairs, Jack leads the way to the door. "It's not much to look at, but make yourself at home," Jack says, holding the door open for Davey.

Davey gazes around curiously at the open living room and kitchen, the two closed bedroom doors and bathroom door that lead off the main. "How'd you find a place so close to campus?" he asks in awe.

"It's actually my brother's place, I just moved in with him when I started school," Jack says. "Then he got hitched to Race, so there's three of us now. As for how he found it in the first place," Jack shrugs with a mysterious grin, "I dunno, Spot just knows people."

"Spot?" Davey echoes disbelievingly. "And Race? Does anyone you know have a normal name?"

Jack laughs. "Where's the fun in that?" He toes out of his shoes and heads for the kitchen, immediately rooting in the fridge for the vegetables he's set aside for tonight. "You want somethin' to drink?"

"I'm fine, thanks," says Davey. He hovers in the entrance to the kitchen, watching Jack with his brow furrowed. A vaguely bemused smile slips across his face as he sees Jack pulling out food and setting it on the counter. "You really just wanted company for dinner."

"S'what I said, wasn't it?" Jack responds, raising an eyebrow. "Why you sound so surprised?"

The blush is instantaneous, Davey's ears turning bright pink as he averts his gaze. "I figured it was a line, honestly," he admits, fidgeting his fingers nervously.

Jack glances up, amused, and he can't entirely stop his ears from pivoting forward in interest, his tail twitching. Apparently, his reputation precedes him. He wants to laugh at the embarrassed naivety on Davey's face, but at the same time, a voice in the back of his head purrs, _and he came anyway._ Even though he thought it was just a pick-up, Davey still came. The thought is deeply satisfying, and Jack grins.

"My Ma raised me right, I know the rules: dinner first, then dessert," he says and is delighted to see the blush crawl forward into Davey's cheeks. Jack immediately decides it's cute and resolves to see how many times he can make Davey blush before the night's over. "But nah, I really just meant dinner," Jack says. "Told ya, I don't like eatin' alone, and Spot and Racer both work late Fridays."

Davey stares, looking thoroughly dumbstruck for a moment, before he laughs and shakes his head. "Um, you want a hand with anything?" Jack waves him off, already getting into a rhythm, so Davey moves over to sit on one of the stools at the little breakfast bar where he can still watch Jack. "You do this a lot?"

"Bring home random freshman to keep me company?" Jack asks with a raised eyebrow.

"I meant cooking," Davey replies dryly, grinning. "But yeah, that too, now you mention it."

Jack laughs, digging out a cutting board and starting on the vegetables. "Answer's no eitha way, actually," he says. "Used to cook a lot 'til Race moved in and took over. Insists none us know what we're doin'. He's Italian," he adds by way of explanation, to Davey's amusement. "And I mostly just hang 'round on campus Friday nights, got enough friends I can us'lly find someone to put up with me for a coupl'a hours."

"You really hate being home alone that much?" Davey asks thoughtfully.

"Nah, just get bored easy," says Jack, shrugging. "And that us'lly gets me in trouble."

Davey smirks. "I can imagine," he says, nodding. "I don't know, I get it though. My dorm still kinda weirds me out 'cause I'm not used to being on my own yet. Especially because I've got a twin sister, so I've kind of always had someone there, even when I didn't _want_ her there." He smiles ruefully. "I keep finding excuses to go other places, so I don't sit up in my room by myself all evening."

"Ah, that explains why you been hanging 'round the shop," Jack says, chuckling.

"Well, that and your wi-fi is better than mine," Davey agrees. "Half my classes post all their stuff online but the wi-fi in the dorms is useless. You'd think a college would have better internet. And it's seriously cutting into my Netflix time, I am falling behind on my shows."

Jack laughs, tossing an amused grin over his shoulder as he turns on the old stovetop. He's going for simplicity over style, settling for the quick and easy staple of stir-fry, and he digs out the large frying pan. "Now that's just criminal," Jack says, shaking his head. "Should take that to the student union, you should. I'd be strikin' if I missed the new season of Baker Street."

"I've never actually seen it," Davey admits, causing Jack to nearly drop the cutting board. "I mean, how many versions of Sherlock Holmes does the world really need?"

"Exactly one," Jack responds fervently. " _That_ one." Davey gives him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised, unconvinced. "Fine, okay, I'mma prove it," Jack says decisively. "You just picked what we's watchin' during dinner."

Davey snorts. "Did this just turn into Netflix-and-chill?"

"Oh please," counters Jack, rolling his eyes. "I'll kick ya out if ya try and seduce me while my show's on. Nothin' interrupts Baker Street."

"You are so weird," Davey remarks in amusement.

"Says the only guy on earth who ain't seen it yet," Jack says dryly. "Fine, whaddya normally watch then?"

As Davey chats idly about other shows he likes - which surprisingly vary from epic space fantasies to a strange number of crime dramas - Jack finishes throwing together the stir-fry. Jack feels like he should probably be a little alarmed by Davey's enthusiasm about the most recent documentary he watched about a serial killer, but mostly the rapt fascination that lights in his blue eyes just sort of makes Jack want to kiss him.

This guy is doing bizarre things to Jack's brain already.

Once they are both armed with large bowls of stir-fry and bottled waters, they migrate to the living room. "Do you have a spot-?" Davey asks curiously, gesturing toward the furniture. When Jack's brow furrows in confusion, he elaborates, "I just know some spots are more comfortable, with the tail and all. Didn't want to steal your seat by accident."

Jack's eyes widen, again oddly touched by the simple consideration of the gesture. It's one of those things people tend to take for granted, how uncomfortable some furniture can be when you've got a few extra vertebrae in the way. "Oh, no, it's fine," Jack says. "I'm good at making myself comfy anywhere."

"Hence why an apartment of three men includes an inordinate amount of throw pillows?" Davey guesses with a smirk as he settles down on one end of the sofa.

"Purely feng-shui," Jack jokes. "We like livin' fancy." He folds his leg up beneath him like usual, grabbing one of said throw pillows to tuck so that his heel doesn't dig uncomfortably into his butt, and curls his tail around his side where he won't sit on it. "I take it you know a few felisians," Jack says when he notices Davey not so subtly watching him.

"Of course," says Davey, shrugging. "The numbers are up to what, like one in every twenty-thousand people now? Big city like New York, I was bound to meet a couple."

"Huh, 'cause the way you were staring, I kinda got the impression I was the first you ever seen," Jack says, just to watch that blush consume Davey's face again. He laughs, ears flitting in satisfaction. "Okay, Davey Jacobs, time to prove you wrong 'bout the best show ever."

Still chuckling to himself, Davey nods and settles into the sofa cushions while Jack opens up the Netflix. No matter how many times Jack's watched the show - which is a number he will not admit to - he still always gets sucked into the instant intensity of it. However, it's been a while since he's gotten to introduce someone new to it, and he's curious to watch Davey's reactions. They eat in silence for the first seven minutes of the show, before-

"It's that guy," Davey says confidently, gesturing to the screen with his broccoli-laden fork. "He's the killer."

"Ya can't possibly know that," Jack interjects, laughing. "He's said _two lines_. No way you could figure it from that."

Davey shakes his head, mouthful of vegetables. "They close-uped on him writing," he explains. "He's left-handed. They already made a comment at the start about how the killer was obviously left-handed, and then this is the first character's hands they've bothered to show."

"You're kidding," says Jack, staring at Davey in awe. "Nah, you were lyin' earlier, weren't ya? You've ach'lly watched the show before."

"So I'm right?" Davey clarifies, beaming. "Ha, I knew it!" He chuckles at the stunned look on Jack's face. "I like detective novels. I've read all the Sherlock Holmes books and literally like _everything_ Agatha Christie ever wrote. You learn to pick up on the narrative clues after a while."

Jack wrinkles up his nose. "Don't that take the fun outta it? Knowing the answers, I mean." He remembers watching the episode for the first time, feeling entirely blindsided by the plot twist ending and amazed when all of the tiny clues were suddenly snapped together into a bigger picture.

"I like puzzles," Davey says with a shrug. "It's fun trying to figure it out, see if I can figure it out before they give the answers, you know?"

"Well, since ya already know the endin', we can skip to anotha episode if you want," Jack says, but when he reaches for the remote, Davey grabs his wrist.

"It's fine, you can leave it," Davey says. Jack raises an eyebrow and Davey chuckles. "I want to see how they figure it out. Besides, wouldn't want to skip anything important to the bigger arc, you know?" Grinning triumphantly, Jack leans back into the cushion. Yeah, ten minutes in and he's already hooked. Mission complete.

They've both finished eating by the end of the first episode, abandoning the empty bowls on the coffee table, but when the episode ends, Davey says he _wouldn't mind_ watching another. The banter bounces easily between them, and by the end of the third episode, they've gravitated toward the center of the sofa. Jack shifts his weight, trading the leg he's sitting on after his foot falls asleep, and it bumps his shoulder into Davey's. After the third time they knock elbows, Jack leans back and - with an exaggerated yawn - drapes his arm over the back of the sofa to get it out of the way. Davey snorts at the purposefully obvious gesture, but he doesn't pull away, his lips twisting in a secret smile.

The scrape of the deadbolt makes them both jump, and Jack glances at the time in surprise as Race lets himself into the apartment. Race takes one glance at the television and rolls his eyes. "Oh, he tryna drag you into that thing too, huh?" he asks, giving Davey a sympathetic look.

"Shaddup," says Jack. "Don't act like ya don't like it. I know you and Spot finished the whole thing." Race scoffs, kicking off his shoes and slipping into the kitchen in search of food. Jack looks at Davey, still sitting within the curve of Jack's arm, and then at the clock again. "Sorry, didn't realize it got so late."

"Yeah, I should probably get back to the dorms," Davey says but there's not much conviction to it.

Jack can relate; he's not exactly keen on the idea either. That feeling is back again, though, the natural comfort of being around Davey; the feeling that this is more than just a regular hookup. Jack's gaze flicks to his bedroom door - it'd be so easy, he can actually _smell_ the intoxicating, heady flavor of pheromones, he knows Davey'd say yes - and then he makes an impulse decision. "Lemme walk ya back to campus."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," says Davey, flustered.

"What if I wanna?" Jack replies with a grin. Something in his chest warms at the smile that steals across Davey's face at that, and Davey licks his lips, nodding. "'Sides, New York's a scary place at night," Jack adds, teasing, as he moves to pull his shoes on. "Wouldn't want ya to get kidnapped or somethin'. I know 'guard cat' doesn't sound quite as intimidating as 'guard dog,' but I betcha don't know any rottweilers that were on the wrestling team in high school."

"Were you?" Davey asks, intrigued.

Jack nods, holding the apartment door open for Davey. "Be back in a bit," he calls into the kitchen - ignoring when Race pops his head out to give Jack a pointed smirk - before shutting the door behind them. "Was junior varsity," he continues as they reach the sidewalk. It's dark out, or as dark as it gets in central Manhattan, the sky black against the endless car headlights and neon signs and billboards. This is the time Jack prefers in the city, less noisy and crowded and chaotic than it is during the day, less stressful on his heightened senses.

"Did you wear one of those little spandex suit things?" Davey asks, smirking, and his eyes are sparkling playfully in the lamplight.

"Those things are not comfy at all," Jack says knowingly. "'Specially not if ya got a tail. Got it stuck all the time, was always tuggin' my fur the wrong way. And don't get me started on the headgear, my poor ears." They flatten against his skull at the memory alone; the awkward, crushed feeling of the padded leather pressing his ears shut forcefully a sensation he won't soon forget.

"Then why'd you do it?" Davey asks.

"'Cause I looked damn good in it," says Jack, sending Davey into a fit of giggles. "Nah, counselors thought it'd help me work out some aggression, or somethin' stupid like that. Then this punk-ass kid pulls my tail in a match, so I broke his nose."

Davey laughs. "So clearly that 'working out aggression' part worked like a charm."

Jack shrugs unrepentantly. "Kid learned his lesson. Got me kicked off the team, though. 'Pparently punchin' is frowned upon."

"Wait, the kid pulled your tail but _you're_ the one who got kicked off the team?" Davey asks, indignant. "That's such _bull_."

"Yeah, Ma raised a big stink 'bout it, but I didn't really care," Jack says. "Was glad to have a reason not to go back, honestly. Decided contact sports wasn't my thing, took up track instead, that was more fun."

"Oh, I did track too," Davey says with a grin. "Cross-country. My soccer coach made us do it to keep up on training between seasons."

Jack glances sideways at Davey, surprised again. The guy's built like a lamppost, so it's kind of a shock to hear he was into sports. Jack's eyes linger, taking advantage of his ability to see in the dark to trace curiously over Davey's outline for a hint at muscles through his clothes. Maybe there's more beneath the wrapping paper than he expected, and the thought makes Jack lick his lips eagerly. Another day, he'll find out.

"Soccer too, huh?" Jack asks when he realizes there've been several long seconds of weighted silence. "You're just full of surprises. I took ya for the bookish sort."

He knows Davey was aware of the staring by the way his ears have gone red again, but he tactfully doesn't say anything about it. "Most of the time," Davey agrees. "But my parents got me playing as a kid. I was really shy, so they signed my sister and me up, hoping it'd help make me more social. That didn't exactly go to plan, but I still liked it. All the strategy and planning, you know? So when I got into high school and realized I'd need extracurriculars to have a hope of getting a scholarship, I picked it back up."

"You know, I wouldn't really take you for shy," Jack admits thoughtfully. Davey scoffs. "No, I mean it. You talk a lot. Not in a bad way," he adds hastily at a look from Davey, "just not like you're afraid of talking to people. You don't seem to have any problem talkin' to me."

"Well, yeah, but that's you," says Davey. Then he seems to realize what he said, because his jaw snaps shut with an audible click, but Jack doesn't miss the way Davey's blush spreads or how he glances at Jack through his lashes. Jack's tail twitches enthusiastically; so he's definitely not the only one feeling like there's some sort of connection.

"And ya sure didn't have a problem giving your opinions on my show," Jack says to break the tension.

Davey laughs. "Okay, so I'll admit, it was better than I was expecting," he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "Some weird choices in it, but it's definitely an interesting take." They've passed the coffee shop now, slipping onto the college campus and blending seamlessly in with the other students wandering the grounds. "That's my building there," Davey says, gesturing ahead to the blocky building across the grassy courtyard.

"Oh wow, real close," Jack says, glancing back over his shoulder at the coffee shop. "So if you're ever bored and want comp'ny, can just text me and I can swing by after my shift."

"Oh yeah?" Davey asks, almost shyly.

"I mean, if you wanted," Jack backtracks, and Jesus, when did he get so bad at this? He's never had problems flirting before but right now he feels like he's saying all the wrong things. Maybe because he's never really ended a date with someone with the intention of having another (or many, many more) in the future. (And that's still a concept that rattles him to his core.)

Jack's ears lower, tail jerking in agitated movements against the back of his leg. This shouldn't be this hard. Everything else about being around Davey is easy, like they've been best friends their whole lives, so why is this part hard?

"Yeah, okay," Davey says but there's an uncertainty in his eyes, staring at Jack like he's a puzzle that he can't solve. A line forms between his eyebrows, like it did when the show intentionally misled the audience, planting fake clues to steer them in the wrong direction - when Davey'd been frustrated at trying to find the answer without all the clues. Fuck, Jack is messing this all up. If he doesn't get his shit together, he's going to leave Davey thinking he's not really interested.

Which brings Jack to the hasty conclusion that it's time to just bite the bullet.

"Davey." Jack reaches out and grabs his wrist, stopping them both in the middle of the sidewalk. Davey meets his gaze, and he's got a _terrible_ poker face because Jack can see the nerves and confusion beneath his neutral expression. "Look, I ain't great at doin' this," Jack says in a rush, "and maybe I'm doin' it all wrong, but I gotta - I mean, I've never really done this before."

"Done what?" Davey asks suspiciously, brow beetled.

"I like you." The admission leaves Jack strangely breathless and he has to take a second to steady himself. "I don't really know how to do this, 'cause I mean, you sorta had the right idea 'bout me when ya thought I was just givin' you a line. But I don't want this to be like that. You're - I dunno, this feels diff'rent, and I want-"

Before Jack can get any further, a hand hooks around the back of his neck and pulls him up into a kiss. Jack can't stop his startled noise, hands tangling in Davey's vest, but he melts into it as soon as he realizes what's happening. It's short and dry and chaste, but Jack's head is spinning by the time Davey pulls back. The hesitation has faded from Davey's face, a shy, playful smile tugging at his lips as his hand slips from Jack's neck down to his chest. "Maybe let's start with a second date and go from there?" he suggests, and even though his tone is teasing, his eyes are soft and understanding.

"Second date," Jack echoes a bit dazedly, scrambling to pull himself back together. He doesn't do this, doesn't go utterly brainless over a person, and he definitely doesn't _commit_. He's terrified, and he should take the out and run before he gets in too deep, before the only way out involves heartbreak.

But Davey's long-fingered hand is pressed over his heart, and the lights of the dormitory cast the angles of his face into sharp relief, and Jack's stomach is filled with a buzzing that he hasn't felt since his very first girlfriend held his hand for the very first time. Jack doesn't do second dates, but- "Yeah, second date. Let's do that."

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to those of you who are playing along with my silly little tangent here. Your kudos/comments are chicken soup for my battered artists' soul. As always, prompts and suggestions are always welcome. I've got a couple other shorts in the works but if there's anything in particular about this world you'd like to know about, let me know!
> 
> Note: the reference to a Sherlock Holmes show called "Baker Street" is an homage to the story that actually inspired my love of felisians, a Sherlock series on here titled ["Cat Among the Pigeons"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/58826) that I will link if I can remember how to do hyperlinks. Also gave me a reason to project my own love of detective novels on Davey. (I worship at the altar of Agatha Christie.)


End file.
